


Lazy Sunday

by Thefishoutofwater



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/F, F/M, Future Fic, all the gang are here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 23:10:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13421610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thefishoutofwater/pseuds/Thefishoutofwater
Summary: Set several years in the future a rare day of Seattle sunshine brings some old faces together at Meredith's house.





	Lazy Sunday

It’s a beautiful day, she thinks. The kind where only two perfect white clouds hang in the sky, there only to better offset the stunning deep blue of the sky. The air is warm enough that jackets and sweaters are not required, but not too hot as to create short tempers and sticky backs. The sun feels warming and friendly rather than harsh and dangerous. The air is still, and road seems silent and noise does not travel from nearby houses. Only the joy in this garden and the birds can be heard.

Two tables have been set up across the yard, a long one for adults and small rounder one for the younger members of the party. Each has tablecloths thrown over them, mismatched serving ware laid out. Flowers have been cut, without permission, from the untamed wilderness at far end of the yard (and possibly next door’s too) and placed haphazardly in glassware along the table.

Her eldest daughter, unperturbed by the earlier telling off and adamant that the flowers are perfect, is too old now for princess tea parties, and instead is curled on a newly erected swing seat sharing confidences with her sophisticated best friend who at not quite twelve, splits her time between coasts. The west coast mom is in the kitchen, nominally helping, but really just taking the time with one of her dearest friends while she gives her daughter some space and waits for her wife to arrive.

Her son, dirty blond hair shaggy across his eyes, enjoys throwing a ball with one of his favourite pseudo uncles and his step-son. He’s looking forward to the start of Little League and determined to improve as the fire fighter gently coaches him – unashamed hero worship flashing in the younger boy’s eyes as he stretches and runs and catches, hollering with joy as he does so.  The firefighter’s husband usually so tense and so busy, enjoys the quiet moment from her spot at the end of the table alternating between watching the three, a fond smile playing on her lips and tilting her head up towards the sun, eyes closed.

Her last baby, her surprise in the darkest of hours; who just a minute earlier had been perched at the table wielding a crayon like a weapon, scrap paper in front of her, jumps up and across the yard to greet her best friend who has just arrived from church with her parents. Her baby, of course is not a baby anymore. In what had felt like the blink of an eye her hair had darkened and then she’d been on her feet toddling and now she runs and jumps, on the move all day. A bright, smart little girl appearing from behind the adorable baby fat. She’s chatting a mile a minute now; an almost carbon copy in looks (and sometimes in actions) of her favourite auntie as she and her friend run off to play in a carefully secluded spot under the table.

She ponders the friend’s parents, finally hand in hand again, smiling wistfully as their daughter runs away without a second glance backwards. He removes his tie and pops his top buttons, relieved to be out of his church finery almost as much as he is by the second chance the universe has granted him that lets him wear it every week at her side. He places a gentle kiss at her hairline as he heads off to get drinks for them both as she joins her closest work friend at the table.

Like all of them he is more lined now she thinks; the years showing on his face. In places, she notices even standing away from the table at a distance, he has visible streaks of the thick sun block that he has layered over his pale skin. His newly adopted son sits on his knee babbling happily, a small hand reaching out to flail at the striped nose and ears. Next to him his wife is smiling but composed as she watches father and son enjoy each other’s company. Their second time around has brought to her a maturity and calmness that had never been seen before not even post-surgery, post therapy, post AA.  She is a long way from the neurotic, fleeing bride of before.

She watches as her other sister shifts in her chair, enjoying the peace of the afternoon in the first place she called home here even as her unborn daughter dances and kicks. Her father sits watching adoringly as he sees her rub unconsciously at the spot a foot kicked out, already instinctively trying to sooth his granddaughter. A granddaughter he’s determined to know in a way he never did with the child’s mother. He and his wife are happy now, finally cohabiting all of the time and both starting to talk about cutting back at work in favour of a new undecided project and time with the kids. He shifts his attention from his daughter, slowly being eased out of her chair by her boyfriend; the only new face in the garden, to the other woman he is proud to consider a daughter.

He watches her as she stands next to the children’s table and observes the rag tag group who have amassed in her yard. Through the years they have all worked together, laughed together and grieved together and now they are all here simply enjoying each other. Enjoying watching the growing next generation playing together in the sunshine. There is she thinks, imagining her younger self being horrified by the thought, a simple joy in the day.

A movement at the back door catches her attention and she watches as he heads out, the tiny hint of grey that has started as his temples glinting in the sunlight. He’s more relaxed these days, endlessly patient with the children scattered throughout the garden, less inclined to temper more open to sharing.  He navigates the path a plate stacked high with pancakes in one hand and a plate of waffles in the other. Behind him his long time mentor can barely be seen over the pile of pizza boxes she carries because not everything has changed and pizza is what they do.

He looks up and sees her standing by the children’s table. Their eyes meet in understanding. Soft. Tender.

 

This is it she thinks. This is family.

 

 

 

 


End file.
